A Mother's Love
by PrettyBoyWithMe
Summary: Whilst visiting Winterfell, Tyrion Lannister encounters something he has never known, the love of a mother. A one-shot about what goes on in Tyrion's head.


DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the world created in A Song of Fire and Ice, any of the characters or places, and most definitely (but sadly) Tyrion Lannister. I do however own Moonshine Towers, Fable, and House Strom.

Authors Note: A little one-shot of what I believe goes on inside the head of The Imp. For some reason I take an affinity to "cripples, bastards, and broken things" to quote the little lord. Tyrion is one of my favorite characters of all time, including Severus Snape (Harry Potter, of which I also don't own), Aragorn son of Arathorn (LOTD, not owning), and Hunter Pence (Yes, I'm aware he's not a character, thank the writing gods!)

High upon his dappled mount, he gazed around the North. This was Stark land, and he was a most unwelcome guest. Ned Stark was South with his "beloved" whore of a sister, Cersei, and her whoremonger drunkard Robert. Robb ruled here, and he was certainly not fond of Tyrion. He obtained the stares of the residence with too much ease as he dismounted. A Dwarf, that's what he was. A rich little dwarf whose bitch sister sat her beautiful ass upon the Iron Throne when Baratheon was bringing prosper to the brothels.

Tyrion brushed his golden curls out of his mismatched eyes, ignoring the stares. He was too used to them. Stunted legs, a head too big for his body, yet the Lannister curls of gold blessed his head as well as the crimson lion on his doublet. One eye black, one green, both sharp as a hawk's. _Or in this case, a direwolves._ He chuckled to himself.

Theon Greyjoy was in a corner of the yard, looking the part of the miserable prisoner. There was a crone weaving yarns to the young squires who gathered to listen. A large oaf who uttered the single word of "HODOR!" shuffled about, bouncing to an imaginary tune. All around, pitiful Northmen, Stark's men, trudged about their daily tasks. And there, he spotted her. She looked not much older than The Hand's eldest daughter Sansa, who was three and ten at best. He guessed her to have not reached her eighteenth nameday.

Blonde waves danced in the crisp breeze. Hazel eyes, so soft, focused on the bundle in her arms. She held a baby, looking nothing of herself, but still a fine example of beautiful life. She wasn't garbed in a dress either, but leather riding pants, and a curve-fitting doublet. Tyrion made his way over to her, yet she took no notice of his presence.

"A beautiful gift the Seven have granted you." The words were soft, and escaped his twisted mouth quietly. She jumped up, and bowed.

"Beggin' your pardons, mi'lord. I had not seen you there." She stumbled over her words in a soft alto.

"No, most don't. I'm below eyesight." he chuckled. "I am..."

"Tyrion Lannister, mi'lord, brother to the beautiful Queen Cersei."

"Ah yes, my sister. Such a lovely flower. It seems she and Jamie took all the beauty our parents had to offer." He cringed, thinking of the way his father had hated him for the death of his mother. Ah, a mother, what was a mother? She was, this delicate creature. "You are quite beautiful, not from the brothel?"

"No, Mi'lord. I've come to tend to young Lord Bran."

"His maester lies here. For what do they need you?" Just then, the babe began to wail. Yet, she brushed a hand over it's lips, and whispered sweet words, and it hushed. A mother's love. "I see." Tyrion said, envying the babe. "What do they call you sweetling? You and your babe."

"I am Fable, Fable Masquerade of House Strom. I took this babe from a brothel near Riverrun. The whore meant to kill him. He hasn't a name yet, but I saved him." He had heard of her. Fable Strom, the Empath. Worse than Varys the Spider, she could tell the emotions of anything in an instant, and calm them well.

"Fable, what an odd name. And from Strom you say? That's a far ride." Strom was located far to the East, at the Moonshine Towers. He watched her nuzzle the babe lovingly, and he stroked it's head. He had jade eyes, and hair of ebony.

"Do not envy the babe, Mi'lord. You have had less love than you would like, but it has grown you well." She smiled knowingly

"Take good care of the crippled lord, Fable Masquerade. Send word to me when you've named the babe." He began to strut away, hurt by his lack of maternal attention, and her knowledge of his inner thoughts.

"Mi'lord!" She called after him. "I have named him."

He turned to face her smiling face, as she gave him the greatest gift of all. Not Imp, half-lord, or Dwarf. Not Jamie. Not Joffery. She uttered the words, that gave him hope.

"Tyrion, after Tyrion the Wise."


End file.
